Glimpses
by Miroslav
Summary: Sometimes, it just takes a glimpse to look into someone's soul. And sometimes, glimpsing into someone's soul changes you forever as well. Precursor to Fall On Our Faces, Slash


(Author's Warnings: Slash

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter. Everyone in this fic belongs to JK Rowling.)

**_Glimpses _**

Theodore Nott watches Draco's face light up, hears his triumphant voice ring out through the crowded hallway: "You'll be next, Mudbloods!" _Idiot._ His lip curls in disgust at this obvious display of loyalty, and then he looks at Draco. Taking in his expression of victory, his gray eyes gleaming, his pale cheeks flushed red, Theodore realizes that Draco is not going to survive as a Death Eater. Death Eaters need to be quiet and wary of revealing their alliances; Draco is brash and loud and as fiercely loyal to whatever cause his father might cling to as any Gryffindor would be.

The next day, a note is left on Draco's bed. **_Don't be so bloody obvious next time! Keep your mouth shut or you'll be the one thrown into Azkaban. _**Theodore has made sure to make the handwriting sloppy and not at all like his smooth, precise handwriting. He hopes Draco heeds his advice, but has already marked him off as one of the many Slytherin who will die when the next war comes. Sometimes it seems like only Theodore will be clever enough to escape the Aurors in the end. He hopes that isn't true. It would be...lonely.

* * *

Draco Malfoy hears the satisfying crunch of a camera shattering beneath his feet, and laughs. Serves Creevy right for trying to take a picture of him when he still has a bruise from where Granger slapped him. He smirks at Crabbe and Goyle, and then looks at the horrified expression on Creevy's face.

"My...camera..." The two words seem almost a whimper, the Gryffindor's voice throbbing with loss and disbelief. Creevy's fists clench for a moment, and Draco idly wonders if the runt will throw himself at him. He is surprised when instead Creevy throws himself at his feet, scrambling to pick up the pieces of the crushed camera.

"You can't fix it," he says, and feels annoyance flare as he is ignored. He glares down at the hunched form, and resists the urge to kick him only for a moment before lashing out with his right foot. The boot connects with Creevy's ribs, and Draco is rewarded with a pained yelp.

Creevy looks up at that, eyes watering with pain, and locks gazes with him. There is something so..._lost_ in his eyes. Creevy seems incredulous that even Draco would stoop that low, to break his most prized position, and Draco is startled to realize his stomach is twisting into knots. Guilt? It is an unknown sentiment for the Slytherin. Malfoys never have anything to feel guilty for.

He sneers down at the boy. "You'll _never _fix it," he hisses, and Creevy flinches. His stomach doesn't cease its acrobatics, and so Draco snorts in disgust and turns away, purposely slapping the younger boy in the face with his robes.

The next day, a Hogwarts owl settles down beside Creevy, offering him a small package. Inside is a brand-new, state-of-art camera, and a note. **_Try taking pictures of people who won't smash your camera. Next time he might smash your face rather than your film. _**Draco has made sure to use the Hogwarts owl rather than the family one. He doesn't want to be bloody obvious, after all. And perhaps this single act of charity will kill this strange feeling of guilt. He hopes so. Guilt is so...weakening.

* * *

Colin Creevy moves to capture Harry Potter in the best light with his brand-new camera, but never takes the picture. He has caught The Boy Who Lived in a private moment, and feels almost like a voyeur as he peers through the lens at the expression of weariness on Harry's face. Harry's face seems naked, and undeniably old, as though he is a thousand years older rather than only twelve. There are smudges under his eyes as though he has not slept in days, and Colin realizes that even Harry Potter is mortal. He hesitates, and then takes the picture. 

The next day, the photograph is slipped beneath Harry's pillow, with a messily penned note on the back. It says simply: **_Harry Potter, mortal_.** Colin has made sure that no one sees him sneak into the older boy's dorm room. He doesn't want Harry to think him even more obsessive. After all, even Colin can admit his interest in Harry might be a bit unhealthy. He makes plans to give his fellow Gryffindor a few pictures of Harry when he's in a happier mood. Maybe that will help Harry stop looking so old. He hopes so. Harry's weariness is so...infectious.

* * *

Harry Potter wants to use a Silencing Spell on Ginny, if just to make her stop gushing over him for one single moment. To distract him, he pretends to be deeply engrossed in whatever Ron's talking about. Something about the Cannons, most likely. As Ron rambles on, Harry finds himself watching the other boy. Ron's face is flushed, and there is a strange euphoria that lights up his eyes and makes his waving hands almost blur as he rambles on and on and on. And then Hermione walks down the stairs from the girls' dormitory and Ron suddenly goes still, face still flushed, just watching, and Harry realizes that Ron is so head-over-heels that it's ridiculous. 

The next day, a note is stuck in Ron's Transfiguration book. It reads **_Just ask her out, you brainless git. Everyone can see you fancy her! _**He has gotten Seamus to write the note, and then paid the Irish lad off to keep his mouth shut. Hopefully Seamus will, and hopefully Ron will grow some balls and just admit his feelings to Hermione. Harry hopes so, even if they are only thirteen and shouldn't be dating yet. There is something about love that makes Harry's chest ache, and maybe if his best friends can be happy together the ache will go away. He finds himself watching the two, in their interactions and fights, and is surprised at his own wistfulness. He doesn't want to be a part of _their _relationship, he doesn't swing that way, but…to be loved, more than a friend. It is an idea he savors and thinks about very late at night. He hopes Ron will ask her. Ron's unrequited (and yet requited if he'd just _ask)_ love is so…piercing.

* * *

Ronald Weasley clenches his fists to keep from punching Percy in the face. Percy is oblivious, of course, droning on about some rule that only Percy would know and only Percy would enforce as Head Boy. He glares at his skinny brother, whose horn-rimmed glasses are slightly askew as the seventh year continues scolding. At last, he can take it no more and lashes out, not with his fists which remain clenched at his side but with words. Harsh words, cruel, probably crueler than they need to be, but Ron hates Percy's prim attitude so _much_—and then he sees a hint of pain in Percy's eyes, and realizes that the stiff, affronted look Percy wears when he has been made fun of is an expression of grief and hurt. 

There is no note, for Ron is not a writer of notes, and besides, would he have tried to write a letter in a disguised scrawl his brother would never have been able to decipher the scribbles. So instead there is just a week of indecision and at last a book that Hermione said Percy might like, nestled beneath the Head Boy's pillow. It is a book on Head Boys who have attained high rank in the Ministry. Remembering the time he and the twins mocked Percy for _Prefects Who Made History_, Ron hopes that perhaps Percy will enjoy this book without enduring any mockery. Percy's quiet, hidden pain is just so…agonizing.

* * *

Percy Weasley stumbles over his own robes, and for a moment loses all composure as he flails and struggles to reclaim his balance. Strong arms steady him, and he looks up, flushed and embarrassed, to gaze at Oliver Wood's smile. His heart drops into his chest, as it always does when Oliver is this close, and he just smiles awkwardly when Oliver asks him if he's all right. He tries to find words, but cannot, and so just smiles again when Oliver repeats the question. All too soon, Oliver just smiles as well, and gives him a hard punch in the shoulder, mumbling something about Quidditch, and then walks away. At last, Percy finds his voice, but when he says Oliver's name, there is an odd catch to his voice that makes Oliver turn and stare. And as Oliver stares, there is a look in his eyes that makes Percy's breath stop, because it is a look of almost-fear, and Percy suddenly realizes something. Oliver Wood is terrified of being truly loved. 

Percy has written dozens of notes, all running along the same lines. **_Let someone love you. Let someone care. There is more to life than Quidditch. _**He has burned them all to ashes. Even if that someone isn't Percy himself, he wants Oliver happy. He doesn't want to think about Oliver overworking himself as a Keeper for some Quidditch team and then going home to an empty flat. He wants Oliver to have someone there to scold him gently about working too hard, and stuff him with food to regain lost energy. Even if it's not him, even if it's someone Percy utterly despises, he wants that for Oliver, because Oliver's fast-track, overwhelming lifestyle is so…exhausting in the end.

END


End file.
